


Waiting to Spark

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like she's never thought about Zuko like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting to Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaydeefalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/gifts).



> Thanks to S. and M. for looking it over. Also, this ignores all comics canon and spoilers for Korra.

Katara's not sure when Iroh left them, but as Zuko refills her cup again (she's lost track of how many times he's done it), she's suddenly aware of how alone they are--the shop's been closed for hours and Zuko's guards are too well-hidden to count--and how much plum wine she's already had to drink. The awkward tension between them, alleviated in the past few years by Aang and Mai's presence, is back, and even after all the wine, Katara's a little on edge because of it. Zuko's always been kind of intense, and having all his attention focused on her is sparking long-forgotten feelings she'd thought had disappeared.

His hand is steady when he pours, though, and his eyes are clear, and Sokka would never forgive her if she let anyone out-drink her, but especially if that anyone was Zuko, so she accepts another drink with a small smile. Zuko smiles back, and even after the past couple of years, she's still fascinated by how it softens his face, makes him into the boy she came to know, instead of the man he's become. If her heart beats a little faster, too, well, Toph's not here to hear it, so no one has to know.

He takes another gulp of wine and then leans in, his nearness setting off a small flutter in her belly. Even though they're alone, he whispers, "I'm still not sure why Aang left right after the conference."

Katara sighs in disappointment as much as annoyance, because she's been over this with everyone more than once, even him. Especially him. "He has things to take care of at the Eastern Air Temple," she says. "And the Northern Air Temple. Airbender things." She waves a hand vaguely. "Avatar things." That usually ends the conversation.

"But I thought you guys--I never thought you'd break up." Zuko's voice is low and confused. There's something angry underneath, and questioning.

Me neither, she wants to say, but doesn't. "We didn't," she says instead. It's what she tells herself when she feels the doubts creeping in. "We're taking a break, not breaking up."

"I don't get the difference."

"It's easier not to have to worry about our relationship while we're apart so much."

"You don't have to be together to be _together._ "

"How'd that work out for you and Mai?" The look he flashes her is somehow venomous and vulnerable all at the same time. He's always been good at that. She almost feels bad at picking at his barely healed relationship scabs. Almost.

"I just can't believe Aang would be stupid enough to let you go." His vehemence does make her feel bad, and also good at the same time.

She takes a deep, steadying breath and a sip of wine, lets the buzz of it under her skin mellow her out. "We just decided to separate for a while instead of making a commitment we couldn't feel confident about keeping."

His lips purse like the wine is sour instead of sweet, and he takes another drink, but at least he stops asking.

"I saw Mai on Kyoshi Island," she says after the silence has started to stretch uncomfortably. "She looked good."

This time, his smile is strained. "She usually does."

"She and Ty Lee seemed happy," Katara offers, though she's not sure if she's saying it to make him feel better or to get back at him for pushing about Aang or for making her feel _things_. Awkward, tingly things. They always have brought out the worst in each other.

"Good. That's good." He looks away and she feels a twinge of regret.

She takes another long sip of wine to give her something to do with her mouth so she doesn't say anything worse. There's more wine in her glass than she expected and she can't swallow it all at once. She catches the spillover before it hits her clothes, but she's had enough already that her bending isn't as neat as it could be; not all of the wine makes it back into the cup.

"Here, let me," Zuko says, napkin in hand, but he stops just sort of touching her, his hands mere inches from her chest.

She inhales, watching as his eyes track the movement of her breasts, and then he jerks his hands away as if he's been burned. She has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"I guess you've got it," he says. He shakes his hair out of his eyes, grabs the carafe of wine and his cup. "It's starting to feel stuffy in here. Come on."

She follows him up the back stairs and then out the window and up a ladder to the roof. She hesitates for a tiny moment, and only because her head is still a little fuzzy with wine. He reaches out and steadies her, his hand warm and dry against her forearm, and maybe her dizziness isn't all from drinking. She sits on the roof beside him, breathing in the humid air of the city and the spicy, slightly smoky scent of Zuko's skin. He doesn't let go of her, slides his hand down into hers, his calluses rough against her palm as his fingers interlock with hers.

It should feel wrong, but it just sends a little tingle through her. She should pull her hand away, but she doesn't. There's no reason to, not now. And it's been a while since anybody touched her beyond a quick hug or a handshake.

The night is clear and the stars above are as dizzying as the rings of Ba Sing Se spread out around them.

"It's beautiful up here," she says.

"Yeah."

But when she looks at him, he's not looking up at the sky or out at the city. There's something in his eyes that sends a thrill through her, and she sways towards him even as she's thinking she should do the safe thing, the smart thing, should go back inside and go to bed before something happens they can't take back or ignore.

He refills his own cup and she lets him refill hers to finish off the carafe. The wine is warm and sticky sweet, and she watches as the tip of his tongue comes out to lick at a drop that's escaped his mouth. She's not the only one getting sloppy, and somehow that makes her feel better. She leans against him, her head on his shoulder. She can smell plums on his breath, which stirs the hair on her neck and raises prickles on her skin.

She turns her face up to his just as he's leaning in and their noses bump; he only manages to hit the corner of her mouth with his, but she can taste sweetness on his lips. She lets out a nervous little laugh and brings her hand up to his chin so she can kiss him before he gets all wound up and angry, the way he does when he's embarrassed.

She licks the sweetness of the wine from his tongue, laughs into his mouth at the startled sound he makes when she bites his lower lip. She brushes her thumb along his cheek, feels the lumpy boundary between regular skin and his scar. Follows her thumb with her mouth and likes the way he shivers at the touch. She's never offered to heal it again--he wouldn't be _Zuko_ without it.

His hands tangle in her hair, pulling it out of its loose braid, fingers stroking her neck and over her throat in a way that sends heat blooming through her. She makes a soft, needy noise when he nips at her collarbone, but she doesn't have time to feel awkward about it because someone coughs and she pulls away to see Iroh gazing at them over the edge of the room.

"Katara, Zuko," he says gravely, "the archers are getting anxious. I think perhaps it is time to call it a night."

He offers her a hand down the ladder and through the window, and she scurries off to her room, face hot with embarrassment. She doesn't look back.

There's a pitcher and basin in her bedroom and she splashes water on her face, stares at herself in the mirror, trying to cool her heated cheeks. It's not like she's never thought of Zuko like that before, but it was always too complicated, too dangerous, a choice they'd both backed away from more than once, and she'd always been happy to leave it that way.

She worries it will change everything, but still, she falls asleep thinking about the heat and sweetness of Zuko's mouth.

*

Katara wakes to the creak of the door opening. She jolts upright, scrambling for her bending water, but it's just Zuko, carrying a tray and looking sheepish. His hair is down, he hasn't shaved, and he's still wearing his tea serving clothes. It looks like he slept in them, if he slept at all. His eyes look a little wild.

"I brought you some water. And some tea. Uncle says it will help if you have a headache."

He offers her the tray, which contains a pitcher of water, a steaming teapot, and a small bowl of congee, and she sets it on the table next to the bed.

"Thank you." She tucks her hair behind her ear and tries not to feel self-conscious. Her heart is still racing and she would like to think it's because he startled her awake and she's still in her sleep clothes, but when she licks her lips, she imagines she can still taste plum wine and feel the heat of his mouth.

"Katara." Zuko takes a step towards her and then stops, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides.

"I thought you were leaving this morning."

"One of the eel hounds is sick."

"Oh. Do you need me to heal it?"

His gaze flicks away. "It's very generous of you to offer, but no, thank you." The words sound false, delivered in a tone that in its very blandness reminds her that he's the Fire Lord, and probably spends a lot of time saying similar meaningless things to a great many people. She wonders if the eel hound is really sick at all, and then chides herself for being ridiculous. He wouldn't put off his journey home just to bring her breakfast in bed.

"Okay." She doesn't remember it ever being this _awkward_ with him before, or maybe it was, but back then, she'd been so angry with him that she hadn't cared, wanted him to feel uncomfortable at best and humiliated at worst. "Do you want some tea?"

He takes another step, closing the final distance between them, his hands curling around her arms, hot against her skin. "I don't want any damn tea."

She opens her mouth, but before she can get the words out, he's kissing her again, his mouth desperate and hungry against hers. They're both stone cold sober this time, but she can feel the same heady buzz in her veins when his tongue touches hers, heat flaring through her like she's dry tinder waiting for his spark. She gasps when he slides his mouth down her throat, skims the edge of her mother's necklace with his teeth.

"I thought about you all night," he says, kissing his way back up to her mouth. The admission, as much as the press of his mouth on her skin, makes her shiver, desire starting its slow, wet pulse between her legs.

She curls her fingers in the front of his shirt and tugs, pulling him down onto the bed with her. His eyes widen in surprise and she giggles before kissing him again. She scooches back a bit so she can nestle in the pillows, his weight warm and thrilling on top of her.

He seems less angry now, which means he was probably as anxious over the whole thing as she was. He grins down at her with that soft, goofy smile she doesn't get to see very often, and cups her face gently before kissing her again. They make out for a while, long enough for him to peel her out of her night clothes and discard his own shirt. His skin is supple under her fingertips, and warm, and feels good pressed up against hers. Now that he's got her where he wants her, he doesn't seem to be in any kind of rush, though she's sure his guards and hangers-on are impatient to get on the road.

He dips his head down to her breasts, licking and sucking at them eagerly and sending shocks of pleasure through her. She buries her fingers in his thick, silky hair--a new sensation, and one she thinks she likes--and arches into his mouth. He laughs; the vibration of it tickles her and sets her laughing, too. Which is not something she ever expected to happen, on the rare occasions she let herself imagine doing this with him.

She tugs at his hair, brings him back up so she can kiss him again, laughing breathlessly into his mouth. With her other hand, she guides his fingers between her legs. He touches her tentatively at first, then with more force and friction as she urges him on. The pleasure builds and builds, and then crashes over her like a giant wave; she washes up on his shore, shaking with it.

Her whole body is flushed and she can still feel the last deep pulses between her legs, and she has a vague moment of worrying what her hair looks like and then decides she doesn't care.

"You're pretty good at this," she teases.

"You know me--I'm a hard worker," he answers, with a half-grin.

She pushes his trousers down and curls a hand around him. "You're certainly hard."

He drops his forehead to her shoulder, shaking with laughter and then something else when she starts stroking him.

"You need to finish what you start, though," she says. "I don't remember you being one to leave a job half-done."

He props himself up on his elbows over her and says, "Are you sure?"

Katara hooks a leg around his hip and guides him inside of her slowly and tightens around him. "Yes." Zuko groans and Katara grins at him and rolls her hips. "You once told me you rise with the sun." Another thrust of her hips. "Why don't you show me more about that?"

He groans, though whether it's because of the reminder of their fight or because her jokes are worse than Sokka's, she doesn't know. Then again, maybe it's the sex; the rhythm they've got going feels good and Katara can feel the tension building up inside her again, stealing her breath as surely as his kisses do. She bites at his mouth and he speeds up, thrusting faster and harder, his hands grabbing her thighs to tilt her hips up and--

"Oh," she says, pleasure like lightning sparking through her, "oh, Zuko." Her hand tightens in his hair and she tightens around him, gasping his name as she comes again, harder and deeper. That sends him over the edge, his hips jerking hard against hers as he spills himself inside of her.

He collapses onto her, his face pressed against her collarbone, hot breath tickling her skin, and she shifts her hips again, letting him slip out so she can bend them both clean.

Zuko looks up at that, surprise melting into knowledge on his face. "You know, I'd wondered about that."

"Did you?" she asks, stroking her hands through the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. Yeah, she could definitely get used to this.

"Well, mostly, I'd wondered about this." He kisses her again, slow and lingering and soft this time. "But I occasionally wondered about other things." His mouth is hot and wet on her cheek, his tongue velvet-rough on her jaw. "Usually during really long meetings with my advisers." He nips gentle at her earlobe, then licks away the sting. "They're a bunch of cranky old gasbags who like to hear themselves talk."

Katara laughs and captures his mouth for another kiss. She's starting to think maybe he'll be ready to go again--she certainly is--when there's a knock at the door.

"Zuko, your retinue grows impatient," Iroh says. "If you wish to get in the air before noon, you need to leave shortly."

"I'll be with them in a few minutes, Uncle."

"Injured eel hound, huh?" Katara says, mouth curving in a half-grin.

"You know I'll do almost anything to get what I want," he answers, his gaze intent on her face even as his hands make one last sweep over her body. "And I want you, very much."

She flushes with pleasure at that, but it also reminds her of why it took them so long to get this far. "Zuko, I--"

"I know," he says, and for once she's glad of the interruption, since she doesn't actually know what to say. "It's complicated. You'd think being Fire Lord would have made things easier, but it just makes everything more difficult."

"Poor Fire Lord Zuko."

Her mocking tone gets her a frown, and already he looks more like the Zuko she's used to than the one she's seen over the past night and day. "I'm serious."

"I know." She squirms out from underneath him, already regretting the loss of his warmth, and slips on a robe. Maybe the conversation will be easier if they're not naked. "You should get dressed."

He pulls his trousers up, still frowning. "I was hoping we'd have more time."

"There's always the next trade conference," she says more lightly than she feels. "There's one at the North Pole in a few weeks."

He stops and stares at her. "Will Aang be there?"

She looks away. She doesn't want to think about Aang right now, and she doesn't want to be the kind of person who doesn't want to think about him right now. "I don't know."

"I wasn't expecting this to be more than a one-time thing, Katara."

That makes her look at him again. "What?"

"I hoped, but I didn't--I didn't expect it to happen at all. I don't know what happens next."

Even with the shutters closed, the noise of Zuko's entourage getting ready to depart floats up into the room.

Katara takes a deep breath, ignoring the weird pang of panic in her chest that this conversation is causing, and says, "We can discuss it at the North Pole." She darts in close to give him a quick kiss and then ruffles his hair. "Now you have to go put on your fancy robes and be Fire Lord."

He slips an arm around her waist and gives her a more lingering kiss. "I'll see you at the North Pole." He reheats her tea with a quick touch of his hand and closes the door behind him with a click.

Katara sinks down onto the bed, which is still a mess; the whole room smells like sex. She closes her eyes and pushes a hand through her tangled hair, a little dizzy with how quickly everything's happened, everything's changed. She only knows two things for sure--there isn't enough tea in the world to help her figure this out, and she's definitely going to meet Zuko at the North Pole.

end

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Waiting to Spark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/669609) by [silly_cleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silly_cleo/pseuds/silly_cleo)




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